


Daddy knows best

by ChocoNut



Series: Tales of love (Season 3/4) [15]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Diverges in 4x1, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff and Mush, Kissing in the Rain, Love Confessions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-12-09 06:41:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20990510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoNut/pseuds/ChocoNut
Summary: “I don’t want a wife, I don’t want children,” Jaime firmly refuses when his father hands him his new sword. But little does he know that things are to unfold very differently for him. Tyrion's presence in the room makes sure the truth is out there, and Tywin takes care of the rest.





	Daddy knows best

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is, my hundredth fic :)

“I don’t want Casterly Rock,” Jaime stubbornly reiterated what he'd told his father countless times over the years. “I don’t want a wife, I don’t want children,” he added, just so that he left no room for doubt.

Tywin made an impatient noise, then opened his mouth to admonish him, but Tyrion coughed to intervene, eager to shove his opinion down their throats before his father could do the honours. “Are you sure?” he asked, his eyes shining with a mischievous glint.

“Why the hell would I have any doubts about it?” snapped Jaime, but knowing his brother and his sharpness in perceiving people, an acrid sense of dread began creeping up his chest as he wondered what was cooking in that awfully smart head.

Tywin, however, brightened at his words. “What do you mean, Tyrion? Waste no more time and come to the point.”

“I meant the Lady Brienne of Tarth,” explained his brother, climbing out of his chair and heading towards Jaime, his keen eyes mercilessly cutting through his. “You do have a soft corner for her, don’t you, brother?”

“I do,” Jaime absentmindedly replied, his fondness for Brienne overpowering his efficiency to apply a filter to his words. “I--I mean, I don’t,” he hastily corrected himself, hoping his father wouldn’t begin interrogating him. Dreading their response, he took to staring at the blade on the table, the unanticipated ambush sending his brain into a spiral of thoughts, thoughts of the wench, of what he really shared with her, leaving him worried that his brother’s suspicion, perhaps, bore a dangerous level of credibility.

“See?” Tyrion proudly pointed out to their father. “Get them both betrothed and wed at the earliest. He marries the woman he loves and you get your bunch of heirs. Both of you win.”

“I don’t love her,” Jaime hotly denied, irked that the conviction in his mind seemed lower than he’d cared to project in his words.

Tyrion took over the questioning, while his father sat back in his chair, watching Jaime like a hawk, studying every bit of his face, every inch of his body for a hopeful sign that these tall claims his younger son made would lead somewhere. “Why did you sacrifice your hand for her?” 

Jaime gripped the hilt of the sword, blood pounding through his veins when he recalled the way their captors had swooped down on her like predators. “They were about to rape her,” he explained, gritting his teeth, “I couldn’t just sit there, watching.”

“And you jumped in front of a bear to protect her,” Tyrion plowed on, “one handed and with no weapon to aid you.”

Jaime almost swallowed his words, feeling like a man standing trial for his crimes. “I did.”

“Why?” asked Tywin, rising to his full height. “What’s so special about this girl?” he demanded, striding around the table to approach his sons. 

“No one deserves to die like that, and definitely not her. She’s the most honourable woman I’ve met,” Jaime admitted with a sigh, “righteous, straightforward--”

“You’ve fallen in love with her,” said his father with absolute certainty in his tone. “My son has finally chosen his--”

“I’m not in love with her,” Jaime denied again, though not too sure about his words this time.

Paying no heed to his futile objection, Tywin beckoned to one of his guards stationed outside the room. “Fetch Lady Brienne,” he commanded the man, “tell her I wish to speak to her now.”

“Father, don’t--”

“_Now_,” Tywin barked, and the guard left with a timid bow.

Having no other means to vent out his irritation, Jaime pacified himself by glaring at his brother. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” shrugged Tyrion, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth, “You’re the one who’s smitten, I’m only facilitating--”

“I’d rather you don’t interfere,” Jaime snarled, apprehensive of Brienne’s arrival and her reaction to this strange complication. 

A long wait thus began, and neither of his companions spoke in the interim, both of them entertaining themselves by casting shady glances toward Jaime that left him both uncomfortable and thoughtful. The discomfort gradually ebbing away, visions began to flood his mind, vivid pictures of a life with the woman he’d hated at first sight - a keep by the sea with a bunch of children surrounding them, one in his arms, another in hers and a few others playing by their side.

_ What the hell am I thinking?_

Bringing himself back to the room, he made a frantic attempt to erase the illusion, forcing his sister into his head, hoping her face would nudge aside the one he’d despised for months. He wanted to fill himself with thoughts of the woman he loved, to override this new invasion he had suddenly been bombarded with. 

_ The woman I love, _he thought, directing every bit of his consciousness to Cersei. 

He focussed on the green eyes that had mesmerised him since his youth, but all he could see was a pair of pretty blue ones, arresting him in their soulful gaze. Just like in Harrenhal, when he’d left her to be raped and killed.

He recalled the petite form of his sister he’d relished holding in his arms for years, but the only thing he could picture in his mind's eye was wench’s naked body, tall and strong, holding him like no one had ever done before, an able support to the frail state he’d been reduced to.

The sweetness in Cersei’s smile, he brought himself to remember, but only for a while it lasted, soon to be replaced by Brienne’s sincerity, her first and only smile, for him and _only_ him when they’d walked through the city gates. 

_ The woman I love, _he fought back again, trying hard to concentrate on Cersei, but the wench was all he could think about, most other thoughts fleeing his mind.

_ This can’t be, _ he told himself, _ not Brienne. I’m not in love with her. I don’t want her-- _

A knock on the door later, the guard entered with the wench at his heel.

“Lord Tywin, Lord Tyrion,” she acknowledged their presence, but when she noticed Jaime, she stiffened at once, greeting him with an overly subdued, “Ser Jaime.”

“My lady,” he mumbled, before returning to his scrutiny of the new weapon.

“Are you in love with my son, Lady Brienne?” demanded Tywin, the bluntness of his direct attack throwing Jaime off his distraction and back to the drama in the room.

“I--” stammered Brienne, white as a sheet, biting her lip nervously.

“If that is true, then I’m sure consenting to an alliance with our house wouldn’t be a problem,” his father went on with his ruthlessness. “Marry my son, and reign as the Lady of Casterly Rock.”

Jaime waited with bated breath for her answer, stealing a covert glance or two at her, attempting to catch her eye, trying to make calculated guesses as to where her mind might be, but the wench stood still, mute as a stone.

“I’m inclined to take your silence as a yes, my lady,” bellowed his father, a tinge of impatience coating his authoritative tone, “unless you care to deny--”

“Pardon me, my lord, but I cannot agree to this,” Brienne countered, “I don’t love him and I can’t marry him.”

It was an answer the man who loved Cersei would’ve hoped for, no doubt, and a riddance from his father’s unwanted interference, but oddly, Jaime felt disappointed with her rejection, a void creeping into him, driving away whatever remained of his sister from his mind.

“Lord Selwyn would surely approve of this match,” his father tried to persuade her.

“I can’t,” maintained Brienne, refusing to look at Jaime, “I--”

“I take the decisions here,” thundered Tywin, “and I’ve decided that you are to be my daughter-in-law. You have time to think until tomorrow morning.”

Brienne stood her ground, refusing to be intimidated. “My answer will be unchanged tomorrow, my lord.”

“Think about it,” urged Tywin, indicating that this was the end of the discussion. “You may leave now, my lady.”

“You can’t compel her,” Jaime tried to reason with his father as soon as Brienne had left. “She hates me--”

“She doesn’t,” Tywin waved him off. “Go now, Jaime. Convince her, woo her, do whatever it takes to make her your wife.”

“I hate saying this, father,” Tyrion chimed in, “but I can’t help but approve of your decision.”

“I'm honoured,” replied Tywin, eyeing Tyrion with icy sarcasm. “Now leave me to work, both of you.”

His mind clouded and brain numbed, Jaime turned to leave, when his father called out again. “The wedding’s tomorrow, Jaime, and make sure she agrees.”

+++++

Once the shock had evaporated and when he was composed enough to face her, he ambled towards her chambers, worried about meeting her, yet anxious to find out why she’d rejected him. 

“You love her,” came Tyrion’s nosy voice from behind, and Jaime turned, irritated to find out that his brother had been tailing him.

“I don’t.”

“Then why do you bother to do as father says?” demanded his brother. “Why has her refusal profoundly upset you?”

“I’m not upset,” he promptly lied, “I just--”

“--want to make her your wife?” Tyrion suggested.

“No!” Jaime interjected. “Now get the hell out of here and leave me in peace.”

“I will, I just came to tell you that you’re going the wrong way.”

Jaime frowned, wondering if this was a new ploy. “What do you mean?”

“If you wish to _ woo _ her and _ convince _ her,” said Tyrion, clearly enjoying himself, “then the gardens are where you’ll find her.”

“Then that’s where I should be going,” Jaime blurted, without thinking.

“Aha,” Tyrion caught him, grinning from ear to ear, “I told you, you love her.”

“Fuck off,” Jaime cursed, then turned on his heel to retrace his steps, outdoors and in the direction of the gardens. 

It took him a while to find her, but when he did, it started drizzling. “Lady Brienne,” he called out after her, ignoring the raindrops that began hitting him at a steadily rising pace.

“Ser Jaime.”

She didn’t bolt away, but didn’t seem to possess the inclination to talk either, and Jaime was left wondering what to say next, how to broach the subject. “You refused the proposal,” he began poorly, making a brusque start to the conversation, the hurt that had been simmering within him coming to the fore. “Why?”

She put on a stoic expression. “I owe you no explanation.”

“You don’t,” he agreed, wasting no time in approaching her, “but I’d still insist on knowing.”

“It’s raining,” she stated the obvious, “we’d better get inside.”

She made to escape, but he grabbed her arm and pulled her towards him. “Not until you’ve answered me, wench.” 

To his utter annoyance, she still wore the same stubborn look. “I told you--”

“Why?” he continued to press, his eyes wandering to her lips, the fat pearls of water on them tempting him to kiss them away. “Am I that bad a prospect, Brienne?” he asked, his gaze sliding up her damp flushed face. He took his time to take her in, and never before had she looked this beautiful, her lovely rain-soaked lashes binding his eyes to hers, the little beads that hugged them enhancing their charm, inviting him to drown in the pools they enclosed.

“That--that wasn’t what I meant,” she gasped, and he took the liberty to close the distance between them.

“What did you mean, then?”

“Did you agree to the match, Ser Jaime?” she deflected him, her large eyes unwilling to succumb to his barrage of questions.

He exhaled a bit to summon his nerves. “I did.”

“Why?” It was her turn to demand answers. “You love someone else,” she prodded on, obviously hinting at Cersei who had been absent for long from his mind. “So why did you agree to marry me?” 

_ Because I love you, _he nearly blurted out, but the shock of the sudden acknowledgement of his feelings left him in a state of mental disarray, words not quite synchronising with his thoughts. “I wasn’t that averse to the idea,” he said instead.

“Because you weren't _averse_ to marrying me,” she repeated in a hollow tone. Pain clouded those lovely eyes, the sparkle in them fading, and hurt, he could see in them, and disappointment as well. “Of course, I should have expected this. You’ve loved your sister and hated me from the start, repelled by the very sight of me, and I’ve been such a fool to think,” she cried, her voice choked, “to think that you--that you, perhaps--” she paused for breath, sniffing. “I thought maybe you’ve changed, just maybe you might think a bit differently, but I was wrong--”

He was far from listening to what she was saying, only one thought pounding his head, hitting him hard, knocking the breath out of him. 

_ I love her. _

He turned his attention to her again, and she was still talking, expressing her disappointment, raging about her discontent, making obvious her feelings for him in so many words, yet not the ones that directly told him that she loved him. 

_Gods, she loves me!_

Stripped off his inhibitions, with his heart bared to her and his feelings raw and open, he grabbed her face and silenced her with his mouth, sucking her lips dry of the droplets that had been tormenting him all the while. The rain began coming down in torrents, drenching them both, washing away the layer of doubt that had been polluting his mind, the illusion he’d thought was love dissolving away, uncovering a fresh perception, the reality of what love truly meant.

_ I love her, _he wholeheartedly accepted, giving himself to her in body, mind and soul.

_ I love her, _he wanted to shout from the rooftops when she took in his mouth with a satisfied moan, pressing close to him, every bit of her wet body telling him that she ached for him.

_ I love her, _said his lips, claiming hers for now and forever, vowing they’d never kiss another for the reminder of their existence.

_ I love her, _said his tongue, devouring the depths of her mouth, promising never to taste another for a lifetime to come.

_ I love her, _said his fingers, caressing and stroking her damp skin, swearing never to touch another for as long as there was still movement in them.

“Did that feel like a mere lack of aversion to you?” he asked, disappointed to have to let go of her, for he wanted to go on, to keep kissing her under the rain.

“Those were your words, not mine,” she replied, smiling shyly.

“Words of stupidity indeed,” he admitted to his folly, threading his fingers in hers. “Tell me though, my lady, why did you lie to my father? Why did you tell him that you don’t love me?”

She drifted off, her eyes distant and thoughtful. “I was confused, didn't know what to say. Besides, you belonged to another, and I didn't imagine--”

“--I'd reciprocate your feelings?” he filled in her blanks, cursing himself for having seen the light this late. Deciding to make immediate amends for the time they’d lost, he pulled her into his arms. “What say you, my lady, to a lifetime with me?” he asked. “I have merely a name and barely a reputation, but I swear to you that I’d give you all I have.”

“Ser Jaime--”

Her expressive eyes gave him the answer he ached to hear, but he couldn’t let her interrupt until he’d finished. He had to go on, tell her all that had been locked deep within him. “I’ve killed countless men, Brienne, but I would gladly die a thousand deaths for you, I—” he gushed, struggling to string the right words together thanks to his overwhelming rush of emotions. “I’ve sired three bastards, all the outcome of an illicit relationship, but all I’ve been seeing off late are my unborn children in your arms, my lady,” he murmured, “our heirs.” 

She let out a soft sigh, then opened her mouth to speak, but he hadn't said it all yet.

“I’m not much,” he went on, “but all I am today, is because of you. You made me better. I want you, Brienne, I need you. I want to touch you, kiss you, make love to you--”

“Oh, Jaime,” she breathed, draping her arms around his neck.

“I love you, wench,” he mustered the courage to tell her at last, the affection with which his name fell off her lips providing him with the encouragement to go all the way. “So what say you? Would you travel the rest of your life with me?”

“Well,” she whispered, a smile teasing the edges of her lips when she brought her mouth to his, “let’s just say I’m not that averse to the idea…”

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, thank you for reading more of my fluff :)


End file.
